Beginnings
by Riza Winters
Summary: A collection of story beginnings. I've started so many that just never get finished. I am hoping to either give inspiration or find it again for some of these stories. Enjoy! (Mainly Grimmjow and Ichigo).
1. Contents

The following chapters are the beginnings of stories I have started. Some of them I lost interest for, some of them I will probably finish some day, and others are just ideas that haven't gone anywhere yet. I thought I would publish them so that maybe I can get some new ideas from your comments, or just be inspired to pick one of them up again. My other thought was that someone might like to take the same idea and write their own story, which would be awesome, because for some of these stories, I always think I want to read it, but I don't feel like writing it myself. Anyway, I will update this page as I update with further stories but here are four to start.

Table of Contents

1. **Recovering**. _A sequel to Recovery. Grimmjow is doing his best to move on from all that happened to him but when a mysterious threat appears, his recovery might be compromised. (Grimmjow, Ichigo.)_

2. **Sniper**. _His is not a list you want to be on. And if you are on it, you'll be dead before you know it. Grimmjow Jaggerjaques is one of the best assassins in the world, but you'd never know it, looking at his quiet life in the throng of Tokyo City. He has everything he needs except for an escape from his past which somehow always finds a way to haunt him. (Grimmjow)__**.**_

3. **Nameless**. _Following a hiatus in the war with the Vandenreich_, _a nameless warrior appears in Soul Society, crossing off high ranking Soul Reapers. When Ichigo intervenes, he is blown away by the identity of killer, and nearly killed himself. (Ichigo, Grimmjow, Nel, Apacci, Mila Rose, Sun-Sung)._

4. **Redemption**. _It's been three years since the end of the war and Ichigo is trying to live his life. But so much has changed, including the man he finds lost in Tokyo with no shoes and no clue what to do with himself. (Ichigo, Grimmjow)._

5. **Honey I Shrunk the Espada.** _Through a Vandenreich's power of imagination, Grimmjow has been shrunk! Now the Soul Reapers have him and he can't even get out of a glass jar._

6. **The New World Order. **_Ichigo and Grimmjow meet in the "retraining" facility where citizens must study and learn a new world history and laws before they are allowed to join the Vandenreich's new world order. No martyrs, no heroes, just citizens. (Ichigo, Grimmjow)._


	2. Recovering

Dawn alighted on the steaming city. A fresh rain left tendrils of mist rising from the blacktop. It was warm, and the sun hadn't even risen yet. In the mist that rose up, several people began to emerge, heading this way and that on their way to work. They never noticed the figure high above run a hand along steel, clearing it of black blood.

Grimmjow Jaggerjaques sheathed his sword. The city was coming to life but he was ready for bed. He stepped off the lip of the sky rise and sonidoed through smog-choked air to the red brick building he knew so well by now. He dropped down on the balcony and slid back the door that was always open to him.

Ichigo looked up from the couch, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. It was clear he hadn't expected Grimmjow back just yet and he hastily tried to cover the evidence of his tears. Grimmjow looked from the photograph on the table to the public transit pass id that pictured a red haired girl smiling.

"So she's gone." He stepped all the way inside and shut the door behind him.

"Five am flight," Ichigo confirmed, trying to keep his voice even.

"It's just an exchange right? She'll be back."

"Yeah…in a year…"

Ichigo swallowed hard. Grimmjow unhooked Pantera from his side and placed him gently on the coffee table before taking a seat next to Ichigo.

"She said she'd come visit."

"She went to England. Visiting will be expensive."

"You're a soul reaper, fly there yourself."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because she left for a reason."

Grimmjow went quiet at this. He eased off, leaning back against the couch and letting out a long breath. "I know. I'm sorry."

"No, Grimmjow, it's not you."

"Of course it is. How couldn't it be?"

"She loves you too."

"She's kind to me, Ichigo. But I'm what's standing between her and her boyfriend. I'm the reason she hasn't gotten laid in weeks, maybe even months."

He watched Ichigo's face blanch. His own turned a bit shocked.

"Wait, you mean—"

"Shut up." Ichigo stood up. "It just…"

"She stayed over all the time."

"Yeah, well we just…we just slept."

Grimmjow eyed him, saw the depth of pain in him, and stopped talking. Instead he rose too and placed a hand on Ichigo's shoulder, mimicking an action he'd learned from the young man in the last two years they'd been living together.

"I think I'm going to go back to bed," Ichigo said quietly.

"Yeah, me too." Grimmjow lifted his hand and turned back to his room. Ichigo stopped only to get a glass of water. When he pulled the cup free of the drying dishes a fork slid out from the pile and clattered loudly against the metal surface of the sink.

"Shit." He turned at once, seeing Grimmjow freeze up. His hand had come up against the wall, fingers white where they clutched plaster. His eyes were vacant, forced from the present into another time and place.

"Grimmjow!" He snapped back before Ichigo could reach him. Like normal, he tried to pass it off. As Grimmjow had improved over the months, he'd also gotten better at hiding his true feelings, which was not helpful. Now he was attempting to do just that, but failing as his breath became fast and shallow.

"Grimmjow…"

"It's nothing…" the espada tried to wave him away but he ended up clutching the shoulder he'd just squeezed in comfort.

"Just sit." Ichigo prompted when he saw the panic was winning and the attack wouldn't pass. Grimmjow had little choice but to comply as his body gave in against his will to the clenching pain in his chest and short, rapid breaths.

It wasn't the worst they'd gone through, that was for sure, but it had been a while since Grimmjow had experienced one so bad. Like always, it caught him off guard. And like always, it left him in painful exhaustion. He panted where he sat, one hand clenched in the front of his shirt and the other over Ichigo's forearm which steadied his shoulder. As his breathing slowly calmed, he brought his eyes back up to the young man.

It pained Ichigo to see the shame in them, the anger. These were the new emotions they'd had to deal with. Grimmjow kept thinking he should be better now. He was physically strong. He fought hollows all week and even travelled back to Hueco Mundo from time to time. But then something like this would happen and he'd be reduced to a shaking mess on the floor and when it passed he was left with a familiar rage from long ago.

But a rage for someone dead and gone and there was no place to pin it now but back on himself.

"Dammit," he swore when he finally let go of Ichigo. He was pale and covered in sweat. His chest still heaved from the attack.

Ichigo didn't know what to say. Any words of comfort or reassurance he'd already given had been in vain. He just waited for Grimmjow to give him his hand again. After a few more moments, in which Grimmjow squeezed his eyes shut trying to calm his roiling emotions, he reached out again and Ichigo took his arm to help him stand up.

"Fuck," he swore again, feeling how unsteady he was. Ichigo walked him down the hall and to his bedroom.

When he was seated on the side of the bed, his shoulders were slumped in defeat. Ichigo let out a sigh and sat next to him. He felt equally distraught this morning.

"Do you think I should have asked her not to go?"

Grimmjow said nothing for a moment. It was unclear whether he was up to conversing but then he too let out a breath and shook his head.

"I think she needs the change. I think she needs to get away from this."

"Grimmjow—"

"It's okay. You do too. You should visit her, in a while."

"Maybe…"

"And bang her."

"Grimmjow!"

The other shrugged. "It could solve things."

"Or just make them more complicated."

"I guess. But seriously, Ichigo. Maybe she does need this, but she'll come back, I guarantee it."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'll be gone."

Ichigo stiffened.

"What? Grimmjow—"

"No it's fine. She's away for one year, right? Well, in one year, I want to be able to be on my own. And you two can be together."

Ichigo considered. "But where would you go?"

"I don't know. I have a year to figure it out."

"I guess…but Grimmjow you know I'll never ask you to leave."

"I know you won't. That's why I'm going to have to do it on my own. A year is good. It gives me time, but it gives me a goal. I can do this."

Ichigo nodded. "Yeah I know you can. Alright, Grimmjow, a year."

Grimmjow seemed pleased to have Ichigo's agreement. They separated to rest in their own beds, but neither found sleep easily.

…..

"You have another one?" Grimmjow asked a few days later, seeing Ichigo pouring over barely legible notes—his hand writing wasn't great. The textbook next to him was full of colourful tabs and bits of paper with even more information on it. He clutched his head and leaned back.

"Last one." He sighed, ready for midterms to be done. "On Wednesday."

"Fun." Grimmjow shifted his belt so that Pantera was tucked at his side.

"You going out?"

"I felt something."

"You did?" Ichigo had been so absorbed he hadn't noticed.

"It was far. Soul Reapers probably already got it." But he would go anyway. He needed to get out a lot. He was a creature of the outdoors and though it had taken a while for him to remember that, now that he was closer to the being he'd been years ago, he craved wind and moonlight.

"Okay, see you later."

Grimmjow stepped onto the balcony and pushed off. He floated through air, planting a foot in empty space and shooting forward with grace and speed. The wind rushed through his hair, plastered his t-shirt to his chest. He scanned the city below, illuminated in electric light. He saw networking streets and the grid-like pattern of streetlights and cars. Ahead the road twisted and rose up in what Ichigo called a causeway. Grimmjow wasn't a big fan of cars. He didn't like being contained in something so small and so he and Ichigo avoided them. There was no reason for them to use one anyway, if it was just them. In spirit form they were free to go wherever they pleased, and go with more speed than anything of human invention.

He left the main city behind him for the faint flicker of spiritual energy he'd felt. He dropped his speed as he grew near, quickly realizing it wasn't so much a weak energy but one that was being concealed. He felt no sign that the Soul reapers on guard had come to investigate. Maybe they couldn't distinguish something so faint.

Faint, and yet, familiar.

He stepped down from the air, on the edge of a park. A faint gurgle of water kept silence at bay but other than that there was nothing. No one was around. Several lamp posts surrounded the perimeter but none were lit.

Grimmjow pulled out Pantera.

"Who's there?"

There was a sudden spike in the spiritual pressure. Had whomever he was tracking been startled? He spun around, trying to pinpoint the source, but whatever was masking it made it too hard for him to locate. He turned in a cautious circle, eyes sharp in the night. He should get higher, where he could see more.

He planted his foot. The moment he launched off he was hit full force with suffocating reatsu.

His back slammed into the earth and his breath was forced from his lungs. Worse, the weight of energy remained pressing down on him, crushing his body in the same way Aizen used to do to him to control him. It was captain level energy, but Grimmjow should be able to counter that and not be left a writhing mess on the ground like he was now.

"AH!" Something in his chest snapped. Blood lurched up his throat. He was actually going to be crushed to death by the unknown attacker.

"Enough," someone said. The pressure pulled back but not completely. "Now you've done it. There's no way Kurosaki hasn't felt that."

"Shit. Do we just take him then?"

"We aren't fuckin' ready for him. Dammit. How in the hell did he find us?"

"Well, it makes sense. He's probably the only one who can detect us."

"Shit, is he still conscious?"

They'd been jabbering back and forth but Grimmjow still couldn't see them. They were too muffled beyond the ringing in his ears for him to distinguish much about them.

"Someone put him out."

"He can't see us."

"Let me handle it."

Grimmjow fought against the power pinning him. His hand was pinned to the ground but he gripped Pantera tighter and tried to drag his hand up. He lifted it an inch before more power slammed him back. He sputtered, barely able to breathe, but he held on, desperate to see what powerful being could be doing this.

Then he saw black robes and a white hiori. He saw long fingernails and white flesh. And finally his terror rattled mind registered a wide, yellow smile set in a black and white face.

* * *

_**So I may come back to this one, I got a bit caught up on some of the plot ideas with this but I'd like to come back to it when I'm in the mood if there is still interest for it.**_


	3. Sniper

A dry, sharp wind tore through untamed blue hair. It was the only thing uncontrolled about the man lying on the stony bed of crushed limestone on the rooftop in downtown New York City. His close fitting coat, his carefully placed tools, the well-organized case at the ready—everything was pre-planned and carefully prepared. Everything was ordered.

This man only survived with order.

His square shoulders rolled forward. His eye pressed tighter to the scope where it was focussed. His hands tightened over the long riffle in his hand, his index finger taking position over the trigger.

Five hundred and seventy three meters away, through a three and a half inch thick plate glass window, an ageing, overweight, Japanese man sipped a dark drink from a tall glass. A silver watch reflected the cold white light above his table. A candle flickered as a useless decoration on the long birds-eye maple table. A woman half his age in a sleek, low cut red dress laughed before him.

The wind slowed. The shooter pulled away from the gun for just a second to check the knots on a small device mounted at the edge of the building.

A sharp blue eye pressed back into the scope. He took a long slow breath and focussed on the grey tint of hair above the target's ear.

He inhaled. His finger drew the trigger back as far as it would go without firing.

The target tilted his glass back, finishing his drink.

One long breath escaped into the wind, and with it, a short, sharp burst of sound no one but the shooter on the rooftop would hear.

The speeding bullet passed through the pane without shattering it, without even a sound. It slipped through air and glass as easily as it slipped into the soft tissue of the target's temple, through a fragment of bone and into the nerve center of his being.

His glass slammed back against the table. His eyes bulged wide and breath of air departed his lungs for the last time.

Before his escort ever screamed—before anyone even thought to dial nine-one-one, the high powered sniper rifle was disassembled, the case in which it was stored was shut tight, and the man who'd fired the shot was sweeping back his messy hair and shutting the door to the rooftop behind him.

Forty nine minutes later, when the police were still setting up their yellow tape and sobbing spectators tried to give their statements, the man took his seat on a Boeing 747 preparing for takeoff.

And well before any laser beam traced the angle of the shot and the path of the bullet to the building seven hundred and seventy three meters away, the man who'd fired the shot was across the Atlantic and sipping back a pure shot as he the pilot announced they'd be making their final descent in the next thirty minutes.

He was Grimmjow Jaggerjaques. And he was that good.

* * *

The door shut quietly on the single bedroom apartment. Grimmjow set the thread back on the side table where he also placed his keys. If it hadn't been where he'd left it, perched on the top of his door, he would have remained vigilant. As it was, he quickly scanned the rest of his apartment for telltale signs of an intruder and let himself relax. He would know if anyone had been here, or was still here—his instincts were too sharp for him not to know.

So he dropped his duffle on the floor and sank into leather cushions, never even turning on a light. His hand closed over the barrel of the semi-automatic beneath the cushion behind his head and he shut his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

Two hours later he sat up from the spot, stretched out stiff muscles and undressed. His shower cleansed him of the plane ride, the powdered lime that had gathered on his hands and midriff during the job and the sleep that still called him. But he didn't have time right now, so he left the shower, clean shaven and refreshed, and dressed in a black button up and dark jeans. He tucked a long silver knife into the top of one boot, another down the side of his pants, and finally a gun in the waistband of his boxers in the back of his pants. It was less than his usual equipment for a meet, but he knew this dealer was skiddish. He'd take his chances for a good pay day.

Two subway trips later he was in the heart of Tokyo, stepping off the streets into a high rise building. He noted the exit signs and the service stairwell before stepping into the elevator. Security let him pass when he reached the top floor. He passed glass walled rooms and dozens of men and women in sharp, clean suits. The office at the end, however, was his destination. He carefully tracked the movements of the three security guards with him, noting their height, weight and proportions. He saw the way they held themselves, figured out the positions of their guns, and willingly gave up his own gun before entering the office. He knew there was no point arguing.

"It's done," he announced as soon as the door was shut on the spacious office. Two walls were thick glass overlooking the sweeping landscape of buildings and streets and cars. Plants twisted and climbed here and there decoratively. Grimmjow only bothered to note that there was only one way in and out of this room.

"I can see that." The slender man behind the desk rose and stuck out a hand. A name plate on his desk read Shawlong Kufang.

Grimmjow crossed the room and grasped his hand. They shook firmly before separating and Kufang indicated Grimmjow sit.

"I can't believe it. I only hired you two days ago. How did you manage it? Getting half way around the world and back again? I mean—"

"Doesn't matter," Grimmjow interrupted. He didn't discuss the details of any op, even if this man had paid him to do it. "I just want my other half."

"Of course." The man turned back to a painting behind his desk. He slid it back to reveal a safety deposit box. Grimmjow watched his fingers dance over the keys. Even though Kufang tried to block his view of the code, he easily picked out the placement of his fingers and filed the number away, just in case it might be useful someday.

"He was trafficking young Asian women into America, you know," he spoke as he withdrew wads of cash. "You did a great service to—"

"I don't care," Grimmjow cut him off quickly. He knew everything he needed to know about the man he'd killed. He never killed without research and he'd read an extensive file on his flight to America. He also didn't need justification for doing what he did—just a payoff, which the man now handed to him.

"I see. You're discreet. I'm glad. I wouldn't like it if you were too chatty."

The implication was clear. Grimmjow pocketed the cash and stood. "Of course I won't be saying anything about our transaction."

"Good. Then our business is complete, for now."

"It is." Grimmjow turned back to the door. "If you ever need my services again, you know where to get a hold of me."

"Indeed." The thin man took the door from him. Grimmjow nodded and left. He was given back his gun. This was good. Having trustworthy clients made things so much easier for him. Kufang hadn't tried to withhold cash, or make things complicated by getting squeamish. He hadn't even tried to kill him. If all business deals could go down that smoothly, Grimmjow would lead a very quiet life.

But quiet was not the word to describe the way he'd lived for the past six years, nor the years previous to that when he'd been a respectable member of the JSDF Special Forces.

He walked half way home. He picked up fresh food to restock his fridge. He returned to his apartment in an upscale building in the south end of town, surrounded by popular restaurants and nightclubs he never visited. Once home, he eased back into his chair and took a drink.

His eyes settled on the single photo framed on the far wall. After just a second, he pulled his eyes away. He didn't need the photograph to see her face, or remind him of the past. He didn't need anything but his own, unerring memory for any of that.

His head sank back. He shut his eyes. He didn't have room for that memory, or the feelings that went with it. It was emotions like that, that could get someone like him killed.

* * *

_**This was a request from Romao. I decided to write the beginning to get a feel for whether or not its something I would continue writing. I kind of like it, so I may continue, but not for a while since I have quite a bit on the go at the moment!** _


	4. Nameless

"Captain Soifon is in critical condition."

"W-what? Now it's captains?" Ichigo gripped the door frame to the Thirteenth Division office. Rukia nodded gravely.

"Worse, he got three members before she intervened and he nearly killed her."

Ichigo's fingers tightened. That made sixteen—sixteen seated officers slaughtered without warning since this new enemy emerged. "And you still have no idea who it is?"

"He's never left anyone alive before—until now, and honestly, it doesn't look good."

"What?" Not Soifon, she was invincible.

"Ichigo this is serious. My squad is investigating but there's nothing to find until he comes again."

"I understand, I'll stay. When he comes, I'll fight him."

"He's fast."

"So I am I."

"He's ruthless."

"I'll do what it takes, Rukia. I won't let more people die. There's been too much of that already."

He started at her touch to the back of his hand. She looked up at him with serious eyes. "This war has taken too many," she agreed. "But that's war, and it's not your fault—none of it. And since your battle in Hueco Mundo the Vandenreich have been in hiding."

"Yeah, but this has to be them right? Some new attack strategy?"

"It's unconfirmed, but I would say that was a safe bet. Unless we want to face the possibility of there being some other threat out there."

"Mmm." Ichigo eased himself away from the door. "So we wait then?"

"It's the only thing we can do."

"Fine. Then I'm staying with you."

She didn't bother pretending it annoyed her. She knew he couldn't lose anyone else to this war—and she knew if she were to face this new enemy, she stood little chance.

Ichigo took a seat on the couch in the squad room. Rukia returned to her paperwork. In silence, they waited.

….

"Lieutenant!"

The cry startled them both. Ichigo had been half asleep on the couch where he'd spent the entire night and morning and Rukia had just finished making tea. Her cup spilled over her papers but she paid no attention and instead followed right out after her subordinate, needing nothing but his desperate cry to alert her to what was wrong.

"Ichigo!" They spotted the assailant at once. He was in the courtyard, less than a hundred metres from them. How hadn't they felt him, seen him?

"What's he doing?"

He wasn't doing anything. He was just standing. Waiting. He was wearing all white—a clear indication he was with the Vandenreich. But he wasn't wearing the classis cut uniform of the regular soldiers. His was plain: white pants, a white sleeveless shirt that covered his torso but additionally had a hood that masked his face. The handle of a katana poked over his shoulder.

"Is that a Zanpakuto?" Ichigo whispered.

"It looks like it."

"Who is he?"

"I think we're about to find out."

Rukia drew her weapon. Ichigo did too. He planted his foot.

Suddenly the court yard was empty.

"What the Hell?" He waited for the blow to come but the assailant hadn't gone for them. Judging by the cries, he'd gone toward the manor near-by.

"Captain!" Rukia cried.

"Shit." Ichigo's flashstep was faster. He arrived ahead of her, skidding through the shattered door of Captain Ukitake's home. It didn't take him long to zero in on the sputtering sound of lungs filling with blood.

"NO!" Rukia arrived just as he launched himself on the attacker.

Blood whipped across Ichigo's face. It took him a second to realize it came from Ukitake's internal organs as the enemy yanked his blade back out. The captain collapsed. Ichigo met steel.

His soul shook. His whole body tensed. Zangetsu had met this blade before.

But they broke apart before he could see the man's face or pinpoint the familiarity of that sword. The ceiling shattered around him and he jumped through the hole in pursuit, leaving Rukia to take care of her captain.

"Get back here, asshole."

No sooner had he spoken the words than that blade was on him again. He barely countered and the force sent him back to the ground, his feet leaving deep impressions in Ukitake's tranquility garden. He made to jump back up but the man was already on him.

"Fuck." He staggered back from the knee to his ribs. He barely dodged a swift follow up. He was done with this game. He had the speed to counter this guy and he would use it.

His hand swept over his face, yellow orbs replaced his irises, and he was able to get the next strike in. To his surprise though, he didn't completely gain the advantage. It took a moment but the other quickly adjusted his own speed, matching him.

"What the hell?"

He lost sight of the man when he was served a backhand but caught his wrist on the next strike.

Then he saw it: the deep blue colour of his hilt, the square guard.

"No…"

His arm ripped open. He fell to one knee from the terrible gash that bit all the way through his bicep to the bone. But he wasn't feeling that pain now—no, it wasn't something much worse awakening in his soul.

"It can't be you…" he whispered up as the blade came beneath his chin.

Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his eyes up the body before him. He knew already, but every detail confirmed it. His size, his stance, his sharp nailed hands and muscular arms. But there was no mistake when he faced him dead on, the hood hiding nothing at this angle. That striking jawline, that bone mask, those deadly blues eyes.

"Grimmjow."

"You must be Kurosaki. They warned me out you."

"What do you mean?"

"They said you'd be a threat. I guess they were wrong."

Searing pain cut through his neck. He'd been too stunned to try anything, and now he was going to die here, at the feet of man he'd thought dead.

"SIX!"

A call bellowed from the sky. Ichigo blinked past the blood loss but couldn't see who it was. He only saw Grimmjow turn away from him.

"It's not time to kill him yet. Come."

Ichigo watched him tense to leave but on instinct reached out, grabbed him around the ankle, his red blood smearing over white pants.

"Grimmjow…"

For a moment, the espada hesitated, then he kicked Ichigo's hand away.

Dirt sprayed back in Ichigo's face. He stared at his own outstretched hand a moment, then became conscious of the gentle heat spreading all down his front. He let his head fall forward. Grimmjow was gone.

* * *

_**This story jumps between the present and the past, during the war, showing an alliance that was slowly forged between Ichigo, Grimmjow and Nel, and everything that happens to bring them to this moment. I would like to go back to this but as I often do, I tend to sort of forget about one idea once another one pops into my head.**_


	5. Redemption

It was raining. Hard.

He was drenched through in seconds of the heavens opening up, so he didn't bother to hurry across the bridge.

In fact he stopped altogether just about half way across, where there was a gap in the metal support beams, and he step from the sidewalk out onto the unprotected side of the bridge.

He stared down to the waters far below, black in the rainy night and thundering from the all the recent rain.

It was that time of year, when it never really stayed dry.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He stepped back from dangerous ledge and back through the supports until he was roadside again. He pulled out the phone to see who was calling.

Isshin Kurosaki.

He sighed.

"Yeah, Dad," he continued walking across the bridge. "I'm okay. Yeah, I'm staying in town tonight. Yes, I'm sure, I'm ready. Okay. Night."

Ichigo tucked his phone back in his pants and ducked under a bus stop for some relief from the onslaught. He was shaking, but not from the cold. One hand slid to his coat pocket but he pulled it back before he remembered what used to be there was absent.

"Dammit."

He rushed back out into the rainstorm, splashing through puddles and wading through veritable rivers on the sloping sidewalk. His path looped back around toward the underside of the bridge. A few homeless people were sheltered under the structure. He pitied them but hurried on. But just before he stepped through the curtain of rain he stopped short.

Someone was standing at the river's edge, under the protection of the bridge. The water was churning violently. He looked like he was contemplating going in.

"Hey." He glanced around to see if anyone else was with the man but he appeared to be alone. He didn't turn at the call.

"Hey," he called again, getting closer. It was so dark he couldn't make out much about the man, just that in a soaked t-shirt and jeans he was underdressed for such weather. When he got closer, Ichigo was pretty sure the man was barefoot. He must be homeless, maybe he was high. It would be best to leave it alone.

But that's not who he was.

"Hey, can you hear me?" He was about ten feet behind the man. The light from the walkway barely reached him, he was mostly just a shadow, wavering on the edge. He looked unsteady, like he was on the verge of collapse.

"Hey!"

"What?"

The stranger turned unexpectedly.

Ichigo stopped dead.

"You...but you're dead."

"Do I know you?" The man stepped down from the edge of the bank, the light striking his strong jawline, his ice blue eyes.

"It's me, Ichigo Kurosaki."

This got a reaction. The man's eyes roamed over him, as if trying to put two pieces of a puzzle together.

It had been six years, after all.

"Kurosaki..."

"Yeah. But how...you were reported dead at the end of the war. No one had seen you for three years."

"You pricks left me behind." Now he strode fully into the light and his pale skin gleamed under the lamplight. Ichigo's eyes zeroed in on the barcode tattooed on one forearm. The mass of scars around each wrist. And the fury in blue eyes.

"Grimmjow...I don't know what to say. How are you here?"

"How do you think?" But he scratched at the barcode and looked around as if he wasn't quite sure where he was.  
"You do know you're in the world of the living right?"

"Of course. There was nothing left in Heuco Mundo for me after you lot wrecked the place."

He took a step and one knee gave. Ichigo caught his arm and helped him straighten up.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Have you eaten?"

"Ain't nothing to eat around here."

"Grimmjow you're in a gigai right? You need to eat human food. Come on."

He expected a fight, but after surveying the pathway Ichigo indicated for a moment, he nodded.

Ten minutes later Ichigo was sitting on the subway, facing a man he'd thought long dead. Grimmjow sat uncomfortably, taking in all the signs plastered on the train's interior, then watching the bricks fly by the window outside. A pool of water soaked the floor beneath his bare feet.

They didn't speak a word until they were in the tenth floor apartment.

"Sit down."  
Grimmjow didn't. Ichigo heated up whatever he could find in the fridge. Grimmjow devoured it.

"Where have you been all this time?" Ichigo was changed into dry clothes. He offered Grimmjow a towel but the other didn't even seem to notice he was soaked.

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen you in six years. The war ended three years ago. The soul reapers told me you were dead."

"They're idiots."

Grimmjow guzzled water. Ichigo got him another glass. He downed this too before he was finally satisfied. He sat on the stool at the counter and looked around the apartment.

"Is this your home?"

"Yes."

"Are we in Karakura?"

"No. Just outside."

"Huh."

"Did you think you were in Karakura?"

He shrugged.

"Were you looking for me?"

"No."

"What are you doing here?"

"I already said. I ran out of resources in Hueco Mundo."

"There's no way you've been living in those ruins for three years."

"Three years?"

Ichigo looked Grimmjow straight on, then down to his wrists again. The skin was clearly scarred, but some marks still looked fresh.  
"Grimmjow...where have you been this whole time?"

"Where you fu-" he cut himself off sharply and clenched his fist, looking to the floor. "Where you left me."

Ichigo's gut clenched. The last place he'd seen Grimmjow was in a collapsing section of the Vandenreich palace, half way through the six year-long war.

"But the war ended...three years ago."

"Yeah well, apparently no one got the message where they were holding me."

Ichigo gripped the counter. This had been happening ever since the war—for weeks after the war they'd discovered lost friends held captive in separate bases. All of them with those barcode tattoos. They'd held out hope for so many, but soon they ran out of places to look. Since then, they'd uncovered three or four other bases, but there hadn't been any survivors found in them for over a year.

"Soul reapers found me three weeks ago. I've been in the ruins of Las Noches since then."

"They didn't offer to help you?"

"Sure they did. I told them where to stick it."

"I can't believe this."

Grimmjow shrugged. "And I can't believe you beat Bach, but there you go."

He slipped off the stool and stood. "You look different."

"I'm not a kid anymore. I'm twenty six years old."

"Not that."

Ichigo stilled. He looked away from Grimmjow's eyes. "You should dry off. Better yet, take a shower. I'll find you clean clothes."

Grimmjow stared at him a moment longer, then nodded.

Grimmjow followed him to the bathroom. Ichigo noticed that he inspected every room on the way by. He set out clean towels and left him to it.

Then he went into his bedroom, shut the door and pulled out his soul pager.

"Rukia."

"Ichigo, what is it, what's wrong?"

"Calm down, I'm fine."

He heard her take a calming breath. "Sorry. Ichigo, it's good to hear from you."

"Yeah, sorry I've been out of touch."

"It's understandable."

"Listen, I need to know something."

"What is it?"

"Did you guys find another Vandenreich base recently?"

Silence.

"You did. Rukia how could you not tell me. That's probably where-"

"I'm sorry, Ichigo. But there was no point concerning you with it."

"Concerning me? It already _concerns _me! Rukia if you've found one all this time later that means more of those bastards are probably still out there and-"

"Ichigo, it's like the Head Captain said. We'll keep hunting them out, until all of them are found. But you've lost too much of your life to this war already."

"I've lost everything to it!"  
His shout rang off the apartment walls. He heard her breath hitch on the other side. He fought to calm himself again.

"Just tell me something," he continued.

"What?"

"Did they find Grimmjow Jaggerjaques alive in that last base?"

"...yeah. How do you know?"  
"Because he's showering in my damn bathroom as we speak."

"He's what?"

"I'm assuming you didn't tell me about him because you didn't want me to know about the base."

"He ran away from us. We assumed he didn't want anything to do with soul reapers, including you."

"Yeah well I found him wandering around by the bridge."

"The bridge? What were you doing by the bridge?"

He hesitated. "Nothing. So they really did have him in captivity this whole time?"

"Yes, Ichigo."  
"What about others? Did they find anyone else?"

"No. A handful of adhuchas and Vandenreich defects. Grimmjow was the only one we knew."

"Shit. I still can't believe he's alive."

"I know. We tracked him to Las Noches but let him be. I didn't think he'd go to the world of the living."

"So what, he just walked away from six years in prison and he's perfectly fine?"

"He was well enough to tell us to screw off and disappear."

"Huh."

"But who knows what state he's in. Ichigo you should convince him to go back to Hueco Mundo. Or at least come here."

"I can handle it, Rukia."

"Ichigo after everything-"

"I'm fine. Thanks for the info. Night."

He shut off the pager and dropped it back in the nightstand.

Grimmjow was in the sitting room when he came out, holding a picture frame that had been on the coffee table.

"You live here with Inoue?" The picture was of Ichigo and Orihime on the beach, holding hands.

Ichigo yanked the photo back and set it on the table. "We did. She left me a few weeks ago."

"Oh."

"It's okay, I'll get her back, I just need time. Here," he passed Grimmjow a blanket. "You can have the couch."

Grimmjow took the blanket but dropped it on the couch and moved back over to the window.

"What'd your soul reaper friend say when you told her I was here?"

"Grimmjow..."

"I figured you'd call. Just tell me, are they coming to collect me?"

"No. Why, do you expect them to?"

"Not sure. I guess I always figured when the war was over, they'd come after me."

"I don't think so. You were a huge asset. And what would be the point now?"

"Guess you're right." He turned back from the window and sat on the couch but didn't look like he was settling in to go to sleep.

"Grimmjow you must be tired."

"I'm fine." The espada chewed at one nail and scanned the room. Ichigo suddenly became a bit self conscious of all the take-out meals spilling from the garbage can, the photos of him and Orihime on the wall and bookshelves. He grabbed the tv remote and turned it on in order to get Grimmjow's attention off of all the details of his personal life.

"Do you like tv?"

"What's tv?"

Ichigo hit the button and Grimmjow watched the flat screen come to life.

"Well enjoy. I have to go to bed. I have school tomorrow."

"School for what? You already killed Bach, how much more training could you need?"

"Not for soul reapers, Grimmjow, I'm human too. I lost alot of my life to that war. Now I'm catching up."  
"Oh." He couldn't possibly understand what it had meant to lose six years of his youth to that war. It had raged far longer than any of them had thought—even the Vandenreich. Ichigo had been seventeen when it all began. He was in his early twenties when most people his age were starting their careers before he even started college. Soul society had helped him fudge the fact he'd never graduated high school.

"Do you need anything, before I go to bed?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

Ichigo was startled by the polite words that came out almost automatically from the espada. "Okay, the, I'll see you in the morning."

Ichigo left him flicking through the channels and shut the door to his room letting out a long, trembling breath. He shut his eyes and tried to relax his body, calm his thoughts.

He went to bed, but couldn't sleep.

* * *

**_Redemption follows the themes of ReEducation and Recovery in that this is an HC fic, but in this one, Grimmjow is not the only one who needs saving. I loved this fiction when I started it, but I hit a real road block 1500 words in and I'm really having trouble getting past it. I will probably come back to this one someday and publish it in full, I just sort of lost motivation right now._**


	6. Honey I Shrunk the Espada

Grimmjow blinked under the harsh white light. The heat of it struck him at once and he raised a hand before his eyes, squinting to try to see its source but as he did the world above him rippled and wavered. The heat of the light faded and the blinding beam was scattered into a more bearable intensity. He blinked black spots from his vision until he could see clearly. When he looked up, however, the world was distorted. He caught his faint reflection and realized a large round pane of glass had been moved above him. It was thick and concave and left him staring at the world in a magnified, fishbowl effect.

"What the fuck?" He rubbed his head. He didn't remember much after searing pain in his chest and back and the white uniform of a Vandenreich. It had been a boy, or at least he had appeared that way. He was probably no more a child than the espada Luppi had been.

He didn't find any serious residual wounds, however, so what the hell had that kid done to him? And more importantly, who'd intervened in their fight?

He was still having a hard time placing where he was. The ground was smooth but didn't feel very sturdy. The walls were close, the same colour and texture and above him was the warped glass. He was starting to feel hot again, the light was still heating up his surroundings. He moved to one wall and pressed his hands against it. It was grainy and there was the slightest give beneath his hands. He pulled out Pantera, about to attempt a swing when the light above became blocked out and he spun on the defensive.

He didn't really comprehend what he saw. It was wide, and blinking, but nonsensical. It looked like an eye, covering the whole ceiling. Shit. The Vandenriech had him in some messed up laboratory probably, full of all sorts of creepy shit. If the ceiling turned into an eye, he didn't want to think what the rest of this room might do.

Then the ceiling suddenly rolled back. Cooler air rushed down on him, he crouched and kept his sword raised, preparing for whatever it was to come, but the whole room shook and he fell onto his shoulder. He rolled and came back up but the shaking only got worse and then the floor began to tilt. He faced planted and swore, dragging his nails into the surface until he stopped. He still bounced painfully up and down.

What the fuck kind of torture chamber had they thrown him into? The Hell he was gonna stick around and find out.

The shaking ended with one, final harsh vibration that shook him to his core. Then he heard a sonic boom. It sounded like a voice but the loudspeaker was far too high and pierced into his skull. He covered his ears under the shock of it.

Sound torture, shit. As a predator, he had sensitive ears. But the noise ended too and the moment he recovered he stood, took Pantera and swung at the wall.

To his complete surprise, his blade bit deep. He dragged it down the wall and pulled it back out again before hacking in a second time. It took just a few swings for enough of a hole to open for him to slip through.

The wall was layers of the same paper-thin material pressed together. Why would they ever make prison walls out of something like this? Had they forgotten he'd had his sword?

He couldn't turn back—even it was a trap, his only other option was to remain in their cage.

He got about four feet before he realized something was very wrong. The surface he moved onto was metal. It extended before him for several feet but then dropped off sharply on all sides. Beyond it, he saw towering instruments holding lights and massive blades, big enough to cut through Gillion. They must be experimenting on hollows of all types, he thought. It was the only explanation for why the ceiling and walls reached high up and the width of the room around him was extensive. It was like a football stadium, but full of strange tools and shelves of glass containers the size of swimming pools.

Then he turned and looked to his right and saw other furniture—more disturbing furniture. He saw a chair and a desk. What was disturbing about these two items was that they were the size of buildings. His theory about this being a place to house Gillion was out the window—the tall, mindless creatures would never have a need for such things and they were the only things he knew that would fit furniture so large.

Then what could be happening?

Some logical part of his brain was distantly making a connection the rest of him did not want to accept, but he didn't have time to fully process anything because suddenly the noise returned and despite the high volume that made him cringe, he distinctly made out the exclamation, "he's gone!"

Grimmjow turned. He saw his prison towering up above him. There were characters stamped on one side of it, massive, and as he considered it he realized it looked upsettingly like a cardboard box. Then his eyes traveled even higher and he saw probably one of the most frightening sights of his life.

Yellow teeth—so large they could cut him in half in one bite. Black and white bands of flesh on a massive, face. Eyes as big as his head or bigger stared back at him, and worse still, a hand that could easily crush him was coming his way.

He bolted. This was not a gillion. This was something he didn't recognize. A giant. Since when had such fairy tale things existed? He ran over the smooth metal surface, holding Pantera but not sure it would do him much good. He attempted to sonido but nothing happened. The cero he aimed backwards likewise failed to form in his hand. Was he powerless? Had he been that drained from the fight?

"Stop!" The cry made him stagger. He clutched his head and spun back. He'd come to the end of his road anyway and he didn't fancy jumping over the edge without spiritual pressure.

The hand was no longer coming for him. The giant crouch and stared at him, smiling. His eyes sparked with curiosity.

"My, my, this is fascinating." The voice still rattled him, but the giant was speaking softer now. "I can't imagine how it is for you."

Grimmjow stood his ground, not sure what to make of it. The giant bent lower and his hand went below the metal ground for a moment. When it came back up, it was holding there was a large glass jar, about four times as tall as Grimmjow.

He turned it over so the opening pointed downward and brought it in Grimmjow's direction.

"Shit." He realized what was happening just in time to dodge to the side. He rolled and the glass came down next to him. Vibrations ran through him. He stood and started to run but something white and fleshy suddenly appeared.

He ran straight into the massive hand, rolled back and the next thing his vision was blurred by the thickness of the glass that ensnared him.

"Fuck!" He slammed Panteria against it at once but his sword just bounced back. The giant appeared to be moving behind the glass, but Grimmjow couldn't quite see until something pushed against his feet. Crap, the giant was sliding something beneath him so he could lift him from the table. He tried to push back against the stiff sheet but he had to move his feet or have it get stuck. Then the jar tilted back and he had no choice but to tumble into its depth.

He smacked hard onto the glass bottom. His arm felt numb for a second before he could shake out the pain and gather himself again. But he was moving, the jar swinging through the air and all he could do was brace himself against the curved sides and try not to hurl.

Now there seemed to be two voices, bouncing of the glass walls, too distorted to make out. When things stilled, Grimmjow pressed closer and saw a second massive form, mostly white and pink. The glass shifted again and he was pretty sure he was being held close to one of the giant's faces as he peered in on him.

He backed away from that side of the glass, not having any other way to escape being looked upon like…well, whatever he was to them. A prisoner, an experiment…maybe a morsel. Then suddenly he was hurled back against that side of the glass, his face striking so hard he was sure his nose busted. He groaned and barely had a chance to realize the glass was being tilted again before he was falling.

A rush of air blew past him then he fell into white flesh tissue.

"Mayuri, be careful." He heard the booming voice above him but he didn't look up. He had Pantera out and he drove down deep into flesh.

The hand spasmed in an instinctual reaction. He probably should have checked how high up he was before he'd done that, because as the hand retracted, he toppled backwards and fell.

"FUCK!" He landed harshly back on the metal surface. Some part of him registered the brown cage far down the opposite end. But his head sank back against the metal as he took a breath to try to calm the firing nerves in his leg.

"Dammit." The curse dropped from above him, as did Pantera. Despite his pain, he lurched forward and grabbed the blade again, his only defence in his current state. "I told you to be careful. Retsu said his spiritual pressure was basically non-existent. In other words, no sonido. You could have killed him."

"He's an espada, he'll be fine."

"He's an espada that's six cm tall."

Grimmjow was still trying to decide if his leg was broken, but this caught his attention. He carefully rolled back so he could see the giants above.

This time, there was no glass distorting things and even though his mind still didn't want to accept it, he saw quite clearly the towering figures above him. The one he'd stabbed had a black and white face. The man next to him had curly brown hair and an eye patch.

Grimmjow recognized both of them at once. The one he'd stabbed was Soul Reaper Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi. He'd ended Szayel at Los Noches a couple of years ago. And the one next to him was the Head Captain himself, Shunsui Kyoraku—the man who'd killed the primo espada. Grimmjow had met both of them since, in the desert after the Vandenreich had attacked the Soul Reaper city. They'd attempted to capture him for information about the white coated bastards but he'd quite easily evaded them. Later they discovered he'd already divulged anything of worth to Urahara and left him be, though he'd occasionally crossed paths with different Soul Reapers throughout the war. One or two of them tried to bring him in, but he wasn't worth getting hurt or killed over while they faced an enemy that might enslave the whole universe.

"No fuckin' way," he breathed, nails scraping into the metal beneath him. This was not possible. That little imagining freak had—had—

"You've been shrunk." The words jarred him—and it didn't all have to do with the fact they were very loud. Kyoraku bent lower, or crouched, until his face was even with the table edge and he could see Grimmjow more clearly. His massive eyes shifted over him. Grimmjow knew him to be a calm, intelligent warrior, but that did nothing to put him at ease. He was completely at their mercy in this state, and if there was one thing he hated, it was someone else having power over of him.

"It was the Stern Ritter you were fighting. Do you remember that?"

Grimmjow nodded slowly, cleared his throat. "You mean that bastard _imagined_ me this way." He spoke loudly, not sure how well he could be heard.

"Yes."

"Great. So what, he ain't dead?"

"No."

"Then where is he?"

"In captivity."

"What? Then fuckin' kill him and undo this!"

"We can't. There is no guarantee anything he changed will go back once he's dead."

"Bullshit!"

"Maybe, maybe not. But we can't do anything until we're sure. Others were hurt by his powers as well."

Grimmjow thought this over, but he knew what he would do. He wouldn't hesitate a second before killing the bastard. It's not like he'd willingly undo it anyway.

"Are you injured?"

His attention left the soul reaper and returned to his throbbing leg. He was quite sure the bone was intact but his knees was already swelled. He shifted his leg and winced, but forced himself back to his feet. He needed to know the extent of the damage so he could start planning his next move.

His knee refused to take his weight. He balanced on one leg after trying to put pressure on the other.

"He'll be fine." He heard the other soul reaper speak. "I'll make sure of it."

Grimmjow's stomach tightened. He looked up at their faces again as they decided his fate. He'd heard rumours about the strange scientist and he definitely did not want to be left in his care.

"Mayuri, he's not an experiment."

"But he is our prisoner, isn't he? I mean, his capture has been a standing order since the last Head Captain."

"Yes, it has."

"Then I don't see the problem."

"I do. No experiments. But I do want to know if you can come up with some way to reverse his condition. If you do, perhaps we could do the same for the others."

That still sounded a lot like experimentation to Grimmjow. Brown eyes swept over him one last time before Kurotsuchi agreed and the Head Captain left. Grimmjow instantly tried to make a run for it but that pale hand had him, closing around his middle with ease. He was lifted, the feeling sickening, to be held like a doll, or some other unfortunate plaything. He didn't flail or cry out though, it was pointless and he would conserve his dignity.

He took in every detail of the room as they travelled across it, searching for anything that might be of use to him. But it was in vain. He was truly and utterly helpless.

* * *

_**So this was an inspiration after the latest few chapters of the manga and a visit to Netflix where nostalgia struck when I saw "Honey I Shrunk the Kids." Of course a great fanfic idea was the result, lol. This is all I have on this story, I just wrote it one night on a whim, hope to get back to it at some point though I'm not sure just what kind of story it would be and how I could develop it. Let me know if you have any suggestions.**_

_**Also a huge thanks to you reviews so far in this collection. I'm already working on Redemption again after so many positive comments!**_

_**Riza**_


	7. The New World Order

Ichigo picks at a small flaw in the vinyl table top. A piece of flat, gray plastic catches under his finger nail and lifts up. He peels it back, creating a flaw in the otherwise perfectly ordered environment around him.

A tray bangs down hard on the table and he draws his hand back at once, instantly regretting marring the table. But then he sees it is not an instructor but another citizen taking a seat across from him.

Standing out among the sea of straight postures, white shirts and quietly eating citizens, this man sticks out like a sore thumb. It's not his bright blue hair—it's his slouched shoulders, his spilled juice, his rumpled shirt and the scowl plastered on his face.

"Who'd have thunk it," his lips curl back in an ironic grin, "you and I in the reject pile together."

He makes no effort to keep his voice low or to pretend he fits into the crowd of demure beings all around. He stabs his spoon into the bowl on his tray and begins to stuff food into his mouth while he waits for Ichigo to respond.

Ichigo doesn't. He glances down the end of the row of tables to where a man in black stands, watching. A fist slams down on the table and startles him, bringing his eyes back to the newcomer.

"Yo, Kurosaki. You do know who I am, right?"

Ichigo's eyes fix on the fist. The man looks to it and he too takes a look in the direction of the watcher. He relaxes his hand and Ichigo watches him straighten his posture ever so slightly. So he hasn't been able to resist them either—not entirely.

"Yes, Grimmjow."

"Good," his voice is lower now. "I can't believe they put the two of us in the same facility."

"There aren't many facilities left—I mean, most citizens have completed retraining already."

"Weaklings," Grimmjow grunts.

"No, Grimmjow. _Humans_."

"And Soul Reapers."

"Forced into gigais that leave them essentially human."

"Still, they were soldiers." He looks around to see who else might be among the other citizens but there is no one else he recognizes. He himself is in a gigai but it doesn't seem to have tamed his hollow anger. Those blue eyes still blaze with rebellion.

"You don't seem like you're ready for retraining."

"Probably not. This is my third time being released. Don't know why they don't just kill me."

"No martyrs. No heroes. We're all just citizens."

Grimmjow narrows his eyes and leans across the table, his voice just a hiss. "That sounds a little too well rehearsed, Kurosaki."

Ichigo shakes his head. "They've just drilled it into me so many times that…"

"Exactly. That's how they do it. Until you start spouting the same shit they do. And worse, you start believing it."

"Grimmjow they're going to hear you, you know. And if you're on probation—"

"Of course I'm on probation." But he quiets, because he knows Ichigo's point. While he's on probation, he still has to return to the torture they all endured at first—for days, weeks, months—depending on your level of resistance—until their new overlords deemed them ready to reintegrate into society.

It wasn't physical torture—they're bodies were completely untouched. The pain they'd been dealt had all been in their heads, but it made it no less real to them. It did the job, and most had given into the Vandenreich's will immediately. They had gone through retraining and been allowed to return to their lives in the world of the living, so long as they continued to abide by the Vandenreich's rules, of course.

Ichigo and Grimmjow were among the last to succumb. In fact, the Vandenreich had also tried to retrain Ichigo twice but he'd been sent back for more torture. Until now. Grimmjow was staring at him again and he must have been figuring this out for himself.

"Wait, you're _not _on probation?"

Ichigo felt himself redden at the implication. Grimmjow's hand tightened over his spoon again.

"You're giving in?"

"Grimmjow, what's the point? Resisting has gotten me nowhere but back in that torture chamber. How long do expect me to keep—"

"FOREVER!" he screams, the whole hall going completely still as he rises from the table. He knows already what he's done, and turns to meet the black figures that are running his way. He holds back the grunt of pain from the stun gun and goes limp between two men. They turned their attention to Ichigo.

He stares back at them for a second before lowering his gaze to his meal and dipping his spoon into his pudding. He doesn't look up again.

* * *

A white wall stares back at him. He is thankful that he is alone—he is allowed to be alone and just to lay still, sleep. That no one comes in and puts cathodes on his skin, or fills a needle with adrenaline, or begins the process that allows them to invade his mind and make him suffer for as long as they deem necessary.

Grimmjow will not sleep tonight. Grimmjow will be strapped down and he will suffer until morning, at the very least. Maybe they will even put him back into stasis, but some part of Ichigo doubts it. The Vandenreich must know that they can only do that for so long before it breaks a person's mind. And because of their strict rule that all citizens are equal, despite what happened in the war, they will not allow him to die. It might make him a martyr. It is more effective to show that everyone, no matter what kind of warrior they were, will give into the Vandenreich. That is the real way to destroy any seed of resistance.

Ichigo knows he needs to fight them, but not yet. Every time he fights, it makes no difference and he only suffers. The only way he can ever make a difference is once he is free—or as free as a person can get in this world. Once he is back home, he can make a plan and fight. The only problem is, he has to graduate from retraining first. And retraining means proving your loyalty to the Vandenreich.

They don't need you to be a true believer. They don't care if you only follow their rules because you are afraid of pain. Because in a generation or two, that will be forgotten, and the universe really will be theirs.

The fact that Grimmjow keeps resisting doesn't show that he is stronger than anyone else, it simply shows he doesn't understand how pointless it is. He hasn't thought it through. He doesn't realize that the most important thing is to just get out of this place.

Ichigo shuts his eyes on the white wall. He's already memorized all the flaws in its surface. Most have been painted over but he can still see where tacks were once pushed in the plaster, holding posters of rock bands, or celebrities. He noticed stains that hadn't quite been cleared from the window where someone must have hung pictures with stick tack or tape. The desk had been repainted but there are still scratches under the fresh coat that were surely the names of other occupants of the room.

Ichigo was finally in university, but not under the circumstances he'd desire. His class sizes were probably better than what he could have hoped if he'd been accepted here at the University of Tokyo. But his professors were even stricter than he'd imagined. The meal hall sucked and he was always hungry. And his schedule was the worse—no time off except to sleep and eat.

He half smiles to himself at the sick comparison. This building had once stood for expansion of the mind, freedom of youth, a rite of passage between high school and the "real world." But now it is a place where they are forced to forget all those things, narrow their thoughts and minds and believe in only one truth: the Vandenreich's.

He would learn it. He would spout it. But he wouldn't believe it. He would get out of this place, and he'd be damned if he'd let Grimmjow's hot-headed rebellion delay him.

* * *

_**This idea just hit me today so I wrote up a beginning. Maybe I'll come back to it. I would also like to try writing in the present tense. It gives a very different narrative, I think.** _


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